2009 — 16 September: Wednesday
It's clearly impossible for BBC Radio 3's wonderful Late Junction to be ten years old. But then, it's clearly impossible for Christa not to be here, too; so what do I know?
Well, midnight has snuck up on me yet again, already. Here's tonight's picture of Christa, from the summer of 1980 in Old Windsor:
I hope she doesn't mind me having got rid of her shoes. Actually, she told me to bundle all her stuff into black bags just before she went back into hospital. She was rather less sentimental1 than me in some ways, it seems! G'night.
A lovely, bright...
... fresh-feeling sunny morning. It's 09:06, that vital first cuppa is at hand, the old shower head is now (after an overnight battering by dilute HCl) effectively a new shower head, the news via NPR remains as bizarre as ever: the fallout from winding up Lehmann Brothers in Europe could take "many more years" (Europe is claiming 140,000,000,000 dollars from the parent company, and PriceWaterhouse has already earned itself 160,000,000 pounds). Money makes money, it seems, even when it evaporates. Strange stuff. The US President has dared to be critical of the slow pace of regulatory reform. Does he not realise Washington is owned by Wall Street?
Browned off
And not just with the UK Prime Minister. Slate has a Dan Brown plot generator. It's indistinguishably formulaic (to my naive eyes) from the "real" thing. Christa and I both agreed that the film of that dreadful tosh "The Da Vinci Code" was, well, dreadful tosh.
Lunch may be a distant memory, but the DVD artwork scanning of mysteriously missed covers carries on. It would carry on even better if my little Belkin USB hub behaved itself; I predict a new one in the near future. Mr Postie also dropped off a few bits'n'bobs, including HM guvmint's annual reminder to renew that which I have already renewed for my little car. I am enjoying the musical choices of Cerys Matthews very much.
Death of a childhood favourite
For, basically, as long as I can remember, one Christmas present has been a "Terry's" chocolate orange. Christa took over this tradition from my parents, and (for the last two festive spasms), my son has carried on her sequence. I've just broken into the one I got from him nearly nine months ago and, to my horror, I note that a) it tastes horribly sweet, and b) it's now a product of Kraft. So that's the end of a 55 year or so relationship. Is nothing sacred?
Busy day tomorrow. A walk, and an evening at the theatre for a blast of Gershwin. Meanwhile, at 19:46, I note it's been quite a blustery day, but dry. I think I'd better do something about the heavy crop of grapes dangling underneath the kitchen window. After at least one more trip to the tip. But not tonight. This tidying-up lark is quite addictive. Hah! I also found another half-empty bottle of vodka, brushed the dust off it, and used it to top up the 1.6 litre sealable jar full of damsons and sugar to the brim. Excellent.
Mole had been working hard all day. Definitely time for a film. Crikey, it's already 22:52.